Love: a bonny symphonic orchestra.
At least that was what we desired to be—
Needing every excerpt in its extra,
And sipping its resplendent creamy brie.
Perfection was the adage we aimed for.
We’d praised its being with everything us
Forgetting every titanic could tore.
In love’s mirage, we rode on hatred bus.
Fairly, our stunning love was a puzzle;
Riddle of transience’ daedal mystery.
I wish’d I’d known its amazing dazzle,
But we’d paled in the arms of history.
This is us; a story of searing pain,
Yet, we know it was worthwhile—what a gain!
©TurksonQuills
TurksonQuills 